Shared Insanity
by ThisisPorky.exe
Summary: A Cry of Fear/Afraid of Monsters cross-over. Simon meets David in the apartments. Simon and David do stuff together in an infected town. But most importantly, they help each other survive.
1. Chapter 1

_**updated this a lot but whatever**_

_**i might continue it but that depends whether i can be arsed or not ... sorry**_

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><p>Zombies here, zombies there, zombies everywhere. God, damn, this whole damn town was swarming with the things. It's like...it's like, everyone here, when I woke up in that alley, had been abducted by aliens or some shit, and for some reason I'm the only "sane" human left. Just me and those stupid monsters. And they were all targeting me in huge hordes. Ain't that fun?<p>

Everyone that at least looked human were dead. Shot, head sawed off, suicide, it didn't matter what because they were either dead or dying. I don't blame them for suicide. Who the fuck would want to live here while there's all this shit going on? I'm surprised I've lasted this long - my experience with guns isn't too good, only ever going to this training thing with someone some time ago. It provided experience, I guess, but I'm no wizz at it. Not being hacked off by a zombie or topping myself is a real achievement for me. I guess the texts from my Mom keep me going; I just hope she's well. I'd die if I returned home and something had happened to her.

All these motherfuckers - the bitch with the sharp triangles for hands and feet, the dick-head that wears garbage bags as clothes and has fucking knifes as weapons, the fast ones that make no noise and has a stupid hammer - They all wanted my guts, and I had no idea why. The fuck had I done to deserve this? I'm calling this the "Black Day". Or night. It seems forever since daylight passed since I woke up. Hours have slipped by at a fast pace, yet it's still darkness outside, with no sign of letting up. The weather has shifted - from raining to sleet - but not the dark. That has stayed. I think that's a permanent fixture here.

I checked the ammo for my pistol. Shit, I'm down to my last clip, a few spare bullets in the pistol already. That's good. Fucking great! Just what I wanted - to have a fucking zombie monster thing right in my face as I'm skint for bullets. I wondered how much damage I'd be able to do on those things with the butt of my gun before a screech broke my train of thought. Oh, shit. How much better can this day get?

I was in an apartment when the screech came. Where, I wasn't too sure, but I knew it was in the building and not outside. Then, the door to said apartment caved in thanks to the umbrella bitches spiked hands(?), the wood piling everywhere. I totally didn't scream like a girl as I took aim and blind fired, lucky shots penetrating its body. As it charged forward, I peppered it with properly aimed bullets. At that, it stopped, screamed in agony, and stabbed its sharp spikes into its neck. I guess it did that to end its suffering. I didn't really give a shit, I was just thankful it's dead as it plonked to the floor and fell silent, a puddle of blood encasing around its horrible body. Those fucking spikes hurt if it managed to hit you, and it had you bleeding for some time, which was never a nice feeling. I sure as hell didn't want to fight one of those in close combat, which urged me on to find more ammo for my gun.

Now with my cover blown and defense open, I needed to make a move out of here. I looked over my pistol. Two bullets left in this clip while I had another full one left. I needed to find more ammo, desperately. Either that or just go balls to the walls and stab the fuckers with my knife. The further away I was from the monsters the better, but if I needed to down one at close quarters then I'd have to so so they didn't follow me and finish me off. Ugh, that didn't sound like a very good idea, honestly. Dying sounded way better, but I guessed I wouldn't do that until I see whether Mom is okay or not.

I heard no more screams from the things, so I headed on out of the apartment, using my phone for light. Why was I here again? Oh, yeah, help the guy in the fourth floor. How the fuck did they get my phone number, anyway? Eh, whatever. If it was a monster I'd tell them to delete it. Or just cut its face off. That seemed a better idea. A better thought was - why the fuck was I helping people who sent me random texts when I could just head home? Maybe panic? Wanting answers? Or I was just off my nut enough to follow someone else and try to help them? I didn't fucking know.

I entered another apartment, ready to loot it of its morphine shots and ammo. Every room had some, for some reason, but I wasn't gonna question it. The shots helped numb the pain, and I don't care too much that they're random shots I pick up in random rooms that could contain any kind of cancer shit in its glass. If it numbed the pain, I wasn't complaining - I'm already insane enough with these motherfuckers everywhere to worry about yet more stuff. And, sure, it would probably suffer in the long run, when and if all of this ended, but I didn't give a fuck about later. I cared a lot more for what was happening now.

Readying my gun and shining my light around, I didn't spot any current danger. I instantly remembered that They can hide in any spot. Under the beds, under the tables, behind the couches. Fuckers were like moving ornaments or some shit. And that's what scared me the most. It's like They know I'm coming in here for something. It's like They know where I'm heading next. And They're always there, ready to attack and make my life more shit than it is. That's fucking sad, that is.

Keeping that thought fresh in mind, I carefully scanned the light around the room, entering further inside. To my left was a kitchen like area, and I didn't bother checking the right because it was either a bathroom or a closed-door, and to be honest I didn't give a fuck. They never really hid in there, anyway, and with the noise They make I'd be able to hear Them first rather than see. They're noisy pieces of shit. I'm glad They don't know too much about being stealthy. ...Apart from the things with the bloodied bodies and hammer. Ugh, that was horrible. The fact that it's so quiet sends shivers down my spine. I'm so fucking thankful it doesn't teach the other monsters how to be quiet.

In front of me was a living room, and a window leading to a porch, the shutters open. A cold wind blew in, but I just ignored it. It was like any ordinary flat room; a tv on a desk, a table just in front of that, and two couches either side on the far wall on the other side. Some shitty plant was in the far corner, and the room looked trashed. Not so much in the things it had stored, just...things everywhere. Bottles, paper wrappers, crumpled magazines, suspiciously looking body bags that I totally was not going to check. Those notes flashed in my mind again, about that guy wanting the kids or some shit. Sick fucker - if this was that same persons apartment I was out. But how the fuck would I know? I just ignored the black bags and pretended it was a normal guys flat and not some kid murderer.

The kitchen was normal, too; a table, some chairs, a rusty looking fridge, units, and cupboards, just a little dusty and dirty. It made you feel right at home, if it wasn't for the fact that monsters were running rampid all over town. My stomach growled, and checking the place one last time, I turned to enter the kitchen. Was there any food here? I forgot that I was an actual human being that needed to eat, you know, with the threat of zombies everywhere and the will to live. You don't really think of such normal things when the adrenaline kicks in.

Lowering my phone to the counter to shine the light upwards, I opened up the cupboards, seeing nothing but emptiness and dust. I moved on to check the other places-

'You won't find food in there.' A voice said, deep and devoid of any emotion. Jumping several feet in the air, I snapped around, facing right across the hallway to the bathroom. Standing at the mirror was a man in a black hoodie. It had a white stripe going down its arm. He was looking in the mirror, fingerless gloved hands touching at his face, padding at his cheeks, as if feeling for any mark there. Already I could see the bags and dark rings in his eyes as I hastily grabbed my phone and shone the light his way. It looked like he hadn't slept for days. 'I've had it all. Sorry, ya should have come earlier.'

He sounded...oddly calm, considering what was going on in the town. The fuck was there to be calm about? "Oh, hey, there's zombies running around, every human nearly is dead or crazy, and you're all alone! Wow, isn't that awesome and exciting and your life-long dream?"

'...Uh...'

'Look, kid, I ain't gonna harm ya.' He finally turned to me, and I could see his dis-interest in his brown eyes. They looked dead. Black messy hair was a-top his head. As he lowered his arms, I saw a scar on his left cheek. Maybe what he was padding his face for...? But that hoodie. "_EA 45_" That stood out to me. Something in the back of my mind was screaming to shoot him - that he couldn't be trusted. I knew him from somewhere, I knew it just by his hoodie and logo, I just couldn't place my finger on where. He also wore black trackies, something bulging in the left pocket. Why did he look so familiar...?

'...C-can you see those things?' I just blurted, ignoring the voices. He rose a brow, a faint smile on his lips. Still calm in the face, and at least it had picked up some emotion, even if it was forced. It showed he wasn't dead like They were.

'What, about this high,' He placed a gloved hand in the air up to his hip, 'got ugly faces, loud voices, and try to attack you at every turn?'

'Y-yeah!'

'Nah, I don't.'

'...'

'Beer?'

Why the fuck was he so calm? And...humorous. I had to get the humorous one. As he dove a hand into his left pocket, he limped heavily forward towards me. Still wary, I kept the light and gun pointed at him. What if this was another of my mind playing tricks on me? I'd had enough of those already; this one just felt a little too real for my liking.

From his pocket he pulled out that Stockholm Festival Beer, un-opened. He handed it to me, that smile still on his face. Like a beer would solve anything. But I lowered my gun to the table and took it anyway, the can cold, indicating that it was fresh pickings. My throat felt dry as shit. My mind was still screaming at me not to interact with this guy, but I was ignoring it. Fuck my mind. It was stupid and played horrible tricks on me. And when someone else that isn't a mindless shit head comes along it warns me and try's to make me see "sense". Nah, fuck that.

'Say...' Came his voice again as I cracked open the beer and took a little swig. The top was that bubble foam shit, but the actual stuff was pretty good. 'You wouldn't happen to have any pills, would you?'

'Pills?'

'Yeah. Any'll do.' I gave him a skeptical look before setting the beer and phone down on the table and digging into my bag.

'...Uh, I have some morphine shots, if that'll help.' Like I could judge if he's asking for drugs - I do shots for fuck sake, that doesn't make me any better.

'Eh, it'll do. My legs killing me because of that stupid umbrella bitch.'

'You call it that as well?'

'It seems to fit as a good name. Got a stupid-ass dress on. I could use it as a fuckin' umbrella, it's that wide.' I chuckled and handed him a shot, finding one left over in the bag. He jammed the needle into his leg without so much as a thought, and even though I had jabbed myself in the wrist with them, it still made me wince. The fact that he didn't give a shit about where it had come from or the fact he just got handed a fucking shot from some random guy was...I dunno, it was something. Not strange, no. Strange is what's happening to this stupid town.

I wanted to ask him a stream of questions: what the hell is going on, how did you survive, do you have any ammo, how many have you killed, do you at least know what the fucks going on, did you wake up in an abandoned alley too, are random strangers messaging you. But the look in his eyes. They looked so tired, so dead, yet still didn't give a shit. He dropped the empty shot to the floor before rubbing at his damaged leg. I could see the blood on his pants - looked like it had leaked through. At least their was no gash or rip, there. I was no good in the medical department, and the last thing I needed was some dude bleeding out begging to be saved. God, that would be horrible. It did lead to the question about why his clothes hadn't ripped at contact, but I had too many other questions burning in my mind.

So, we stayed in that apartment; chatted about what was happening, sharing a beer together on the ripped couch. Thankfully my mind had shut up about him being a warning. He told me about these body-less white, floating heads, doctors with large hands that were zombified, and about how the town he was in before he came here was basically in the same state. Zombies everywhere, no other "normal" life to be seen. I forgot the name he said.

He took out a bloodied knife from his hoodie, much bigger than my own, but it was a kitchen knife, so it was understandable. He told me the many stories of how he hacked off the fuckers faces before blasting the monsters to hell with a shot-gun, swinging the knife in gentle motions to give me an image of his swing. He's pretty cool. The fact that some guy in the fourth apartment was either dying or dead vanished from my mind as I watched and listened to him.

He's much better than the rest of them - he'd survived, seemed totally chill, took lots of pills to numb the pain, and didn't look to give a shit about anything that was happening. He did all the talking, allowing me to stay quiet, thankfully. His voice was pretty nice to listen to - Swedish accent, like mine. Deep, casual, a little gritty, like he smoked. He looked in his early 30's, honestly. It was nice having some kind of company that didn't try to swing at you or bark nasty things at you. As I sat and listened, I realized how much I'd missed human contact, and talking to someone else, and listening to another human voice that wasn't my own or my Mom's. It was nice, after all this time being cooped up in my bedroom, to hear someone else's voice. As I adjusted the hood over my head, he smiled warmly towards me.

'Names David Leatherhoff.' He said, voice friendly as he extended his hand for me to take. I was certain, now. This wasn't another nightmare. This had to be real. It had to be.

So I took his hand, which was surprisingly warm, and replied, 'I'm Simon. Simon Henriksson.'


	2. Chapter 2

This kid was something else. He was quiet, kept to himself, sure as hell knew how to handle guns. Nothing seemed to faze him, not even all these fucktards of monsters got under his skin. But every time he cast his glance towards me, he...he looked scared. Sometimes scared, sometimes distant. And every time I looked at him, I felt a pang of guilt hit my chest. Every single god damn time. His cold brown eyes meant something to me, something I couldn't put my finger on. When ever he was in pain and he cast his gaze towards me, it reminded me of something unforgivable I had done, but I had no idea why I got those feelings or what the bad thing was.

I tried brushing it off as nothing, but over the course of the few hours, it was getting worse. I could tell something was bothering him, too, but we never said anything to each other about it. The only thing we conversed between each other were about the ammo count and danger.

We shared the morphine shots between us. We had too - these fuckers were getting stronger with every step we took. At least we had good ammo supplies and strong weapons, so we could easily fight off the bastards. It was just when they were in hordes was when we struggled.

In that time, Simon had allowed me to witter on about what had happened back in my town, and at the hospital where my adventure had began, and what monsters I'd encountered in that time. He'd not once uttered anything about what had happened here past "it's all fucked". Not where he woke up, not what he thought was happening, not even what he thought triggered these events. For a teen, he was very quiet and allowed me to do all the talking. I sure as hell wasn't used to that, but you gotta take what you can. At least I could talk without someone interrupting me after each word. That was a nice feeling, I just wish he spoke more.

On one of our pit-stops for ammo, health, and food, I noticed the kid was limping. His fingerless gloved hand was gripping at his bloodied arm and a pained look was across his features. I'd noticed the bags and rings in his eyes, informing me of his lack of sleep, and they'd only gotten worse. Again, that same pang of guilt hit me. I swallowed and cleared my throat, which caused the kid to jump.

'You alright, there, kid?'

'Y-yeah, that Taller got me back t-there, is all.' Ah, yeah - those tall skinless eyeless motherfuckers. Such a creative name, "Taller". Better than "Joe", at least. They had quite the punch on them. I was too busy fighting off those white skinned fast things with the hammers to notice Simon's doom. He's lucky he got away with just a busted arm, let alone be able to use it again.

'Y-you got any shots left?'

'Just the one. After this, we're all out.'

'That's al-alright, we're in a building. It s-should be full of more stuff to loot.' Every experience we'd had with buildings, both in this town and back at mine, were generally gifted with health and ammo. It was like someone was putting them there, helping us, knowing we were going near that location. It was strange, but hey, it helped with the pain.

I grabbed the shot and handed it to him. I watched as he pulled up his left sleeve and jabbed the needle right in there, pushing the contents in the vile into himself. This wasn't the first time I'd noticed the slashes on his wrist. There were a lot there, decorating his skin with blood red and a blotchy appearance. A self harmer. It got my interests peaked, and me, being the curious fucker I am, I couldn't stop myself.

'You self harm?'

He shot me a look as he dropped the needle case to the floor. He looked dead, even more so now. I guess he wasn't pleased with the question, because he tugged on the end of his sleeve to hastily cover them up.

'...Yeah.'

'Oh - I've done that. More so on my legs, though - the ones on my wrist have since healed up.' Me and this kid were strangely alike. We were trapped in a town full of zombies, we knew how to handle the guns and how to fight back weird fuckers. Maybe a weird coincidence?

He gave me a questioning look before lowering his head, covered by the hood he always wore. '...Why'd you do it?' The first question he's asked me since we first met. I'm proud of him.

'Depression. And personal family slash work problems. All went tipsy when I got addicted.'

'To drugs?'

'Yep. That company were sending them me, they helped with my pains, then I got addicted, went to a shady ass hospital to get fixed, then went to the bathroom, saw the pills, took 'em like an idiot, and then ended up in this mess.' I swung my hands in the air gently as I spoke, my eyes averting and focusing everywhere but Simon. 'I first did it when I lost my job to the drugs. It was shitty, anyway, but it got me the money. I'm glad the company sent drugs for free. I just...kept doing it, over and over, and it felt good. I stopped at the wrists because of the questions and just moved on to my legs. Hidden away, ya know? They've since healed up, now. ...I think, anyway.' I scratched at the back of my head, thinking of what to say. Some humor splashed in there surly wouldn't hurt, and he didn't seem to mind when I said crap jokes.

'The lesson here is don't do drugs, kid, but I guess we're too late in that respect.' I shot him a smirk, seeing he was looking at me. He looked lost, drawn-away, thinking. My smirk faltered before I cleared my throat again. 'Can I ask why you do it?'

'Depression. And anxiety.' It was a quick answer, and I saw his distant look change to bitterness. Both of those can control a persons life, like significantly. I should know.

I pointed to the bed that was pushed up to the far wall in the cramped apartment. We were in no sort of danger since no freaks had pushed themselves inside, and we'd managed to take out everything inside this building thus far, so for the time being we were safe. And anyway, we needed to have a talk. Whats that sissy shit again? "Nothing else matters as long as you yourself is alright"? Even though we're fighting for our lives? I dunno, something like that.

We headed over to the bed and plonked ourselves down. The apartment was so small you couldn't take a shit in it. This bedroom was as small a dicks, the only thing in here being the bed. The bedroom leaded to the doorway, and that leaded to the smallest living room I've ever seen. Just a couch, a tv, and a small round desk. Yet still some room for some shitty plant pushed up to the corner. Every single place had one.

I looked over at him as we sat down, and his bitterness had changed again to sadness.

'How old are you?'

'19.'

'...Oh.'

The silence was ear-shattering. We were still on edge in case some monster ruined it. After some time, the kid spoke again.

'At a...very young stage in my life, I came to the conclusion that I wanted to...explore...evil. Such as, uh... ...I started destroying myself, both physically, and foremost, psychologically. I tried to break all borders. To fuck myself up and get to a higher level, because, like...when you do stuff like this, you either die, or rise above.' This time he wasn't looking at me. I could hear the snarl in his voice as he drew his legs closer to his chest, the pain in his arm forgotten.

'...I hate life and I hate living. I truly, truly hate life in all its forms - animals, nature; anything that grows, must be put to death.'

'So you want to kill yourself faster?'

I saw him nod, resting his chin on his knee. 'Apart from my Mom, I've been...alone, most of my life. The only person I have is Sophie, but we haven't spoken in a while. I-I don't know if she's alright, if the monsters have got her, I don't know shit. This stupid town went to hell, everyone I know or at least were human have disappeared, only being visible through texts and shit. ...T-those monsters taunt me, a-and all I can do is shoot at them... I don't want to live, anymore, because I feel something bad has happened...I just f-feel worthless...'

I've never seen this kid break before, nor heard him speak this much. How long has this haunted him? Obviously before the zombie outbreak - this incident has just strengthened those ideas.

'Look, kid, it's alright, now - I'm here. We're the greatest team there ever has been. We'll shut those monsters right up, right? We got guns and ammo as blasting words, eh? We're too tough for those bastards, and if ya can live through a "Taller" punching the shit out of you, the fuck else have you got to loose?'

'I just...don't wanna do this anymore...'

The feeling was all too familiar. Too many times had I wanted to hang myself just to end it all, especially when the hallucinations started kicking in with more force. It was actually scary how much I could relate to this kid, who was a lot younger than me. If anything, I thought all the kids were getting shit faced in parties or some other good kind of shit, not going through crap like this.

'Been there, done that. Sometimes, through all the shit that's in your way, there's always something better at the end. Ya just gotta punch through it all to find it.' I felt a horrible pang of regret and guiltiness in my stomach again as I said those words, back in full force. God, damn, I need to find a place that had drugs other than morphine shots. Why was I being so sissy all of a sudden as well? I needed some pills faster than I noticed.

At that point I felt a weight added to my side. Two shaky arms wrapped around me, a face nuzzling in my side. Blinking, I looked down and saw the kid holding me, sniffling and nuzzling at my hoodie. How long had he been holding this back? As I felt the growing wetness in my hoodie, I slowly wrapped an arm around him, placing it on his shoulders. It only encouraged him to sob more. I guess it was better than keeping the emotions in, or some shit like that.

For a good few minuets we stayed like that, his sobs getting quieter and the grip around me loosening. It soon went quiet again, safe for our breathing, and I felt the kid weakly pull away. His eyes were a little red and wet, and he refused to look at me.

'...Th-this doesn't make me a weak ass...'

'You kiddin'? The shit you've been through, and you think you're weak for crying. Come on, kid, you're better than that. Now come on - we got a date with monsters, remember? The faster we blast our way through, the quicker we'll get to answers.' I patted his shoulders, and he gave a light smile. Maybe a little forced, but a smile none-the-less.

So, we got off the bed, looted the small-ass apartment, which had some good stuff in it, and headed on out.


End file.
